Pilgrim

by Sara Douglass

  Drago laid his staff on the floor and took the book from the girl’s hands. Then, balancing the heavy book under one arm, he took her hand in his, and held it loosely.

  “Katie,” he said. “See who I have brought for you.”

  And he turned his head slightly.

  Faraday stepped out from behind the crowd, kneeling down on the cold, damp stone, and held out her arms. She was weeping silently.

  Katie drew a breath in shock, and then she was flying across the chamber, pushing past Caelum, and ran into Faraday’s arms. Katie was crying again, but this time with sheer joy as she felt Faraday’s arms lock tightly about her, and felt Faraday’s face pressed into her hair, and smelt the fragrance of the woman as it enveloped her.

  No-one knew where to look, whether at the girl and Faraday, or back to Drago and Caelum.

  Drago rose to his feet, the book held in his hands.

  “Drago and I must speak,” Caelum said. “Alone.”

  Everyone left. No-one spoke, no-one demurred, no-one offered any hint of resistance. Even Axis simply turned, and left.

  Faraday gathered the girl into her arms, shot Drago a look of warmth and gratitude, and followed them out.

  The door closed behind her.

  “This is a bad place to meet,” Drago said. “We should talk, you and I, in a place of sunshine, where we can feel the weight of the wind in our hair.”

  “Nevertheless,” Caelum said, his tone neutral, “this is what we have come to, you and I, a cold and damp cellar in the bowels of a mountain. A dungeon in all but name.”

  Drago dropped his eyes to the book. “Caelum—”

  “No. Let me speak.”

  And having said this, Caelum hesitated. He wandered about the chamber in silence, as if involved in a deep inspection of the walls. Occasionally he reached out and touched the stone, running his fingers through the trails of moisture.

  Drago watched him silently, content to let Caelum take his time. They had been moving toward this moment for over forty years. Who could blame Caelum for now wanting to delay the words a few moments more? It would be extraordinarily hard for him, for he would have to deny everything he’d ever believed in.

  “For many months,” Caelum eventually said, his voice not much more than a confessional murmur, “I have been plagued by dreams. The hunt. Running terrified through the forest, the hunter on a great black horse behind me.”

  Drago remembered his own dreams, of hunting, hunting, hunting, and of the joy he’d felt in the hunt.

  His eyes filled with tears.

  “Every time, no matter what I did,” Caelum continued, “the hunter cornered me, and every time he would lean down and plunge his sword or lance into my chest. Every time I woke with the taste of blood in my mouth and the feel of it bubbling unhindered through my lungs.”

  Caelum turned from the wall and faced Drago. His arms were now relaxed by his side, and his eyes were bright with courage. “And every time, just before he sank his dreadful weapon into my chest, the rider would lift his visor, and I would see his face.

  “It has always been your face.”

  “I—”

  “No. I need to finish. I feared you as I have never feared another, Drago. I have spent my life fearing you. You ruined my childhood, you scarred my adulthood, and you invaded my dreams. You have lurked in every shadow about me, and your malevolence has stalked my happiness, my resolve, and my confidence.”

  “I—”

  “No!” Caelum screamed. “Let me finish!”

  He strode forward, and stabbed a finger into Drago’s chest. Drago flinched slightly, but at the pain in Caelum’s eyes, rather than at his stabbing finger.

  “You bastard!” Caelum spat, “you stole my heritage, you stole everything from me.” A slight pause. “You have denied me even my self-respect.” He took a great breath, trying to control his emotions.

  “And yet,” Caelum said, his voice now little more than a whisper, “you had every right to do that, didn’t you?”

  He turned and walked a few steps away before he faced Drago again. “DragonStar was the name of that rider, and he wore your face, and the malevolence and repulsiveness of his existence was the mirror of my interpretation of you.

  “Yet a few nights ago, trapped in the dream again, I realised a frightful truth. He isn’t you, is he, Drago?”

  “No,” Drago said. “It is the body of StarLaughter’s son. DragonStar…the body that Qeteb will use.”

  Caelum nodded. Again he breathed deeply. “Drago…DragonStar…how we have betrayed you, and in betraying you, how we have betrayed Tencendor.

  “As I realised that the fiend who hunts me was not you and has never been you, I realised something else. It felt so right,” Caelum raised a hand as if in appeal, “that I knew it was truth.

  “I learned, brother, that I have should been the second son. You should have been heir…should have been StarSon.”

  “No!” Drago said. “You have been the best of—”

  Caelum interrupted him with a low, deprecating laugh, and walked away a few more steps. “It is I who would have made a wonderful second son, DragonStar. I have all the qualities for it. The loyalty, the desire—the need—to serve someone else, the constant questioning of self-worth, the constant feeling that I always had to prove myself, and that I had to prove my right to sit upon the Throne of the Stars. I have not done well as StarSon, and that is only right, because I have never been StarSon.”

  He turned back to face Drago. “You have. You knew from the instant you grew to awareness in Azhure’s womb that you were the legitimate StarSon, and ‘tis no wonder you developed such anger and resentment. You were right to rail against Axis as an infant, and correct in demanding your true birthright.”

  “No! I was not right to do what I did,” Drago said. “To ally myself with Gorgrael and plot your death…I should have spent my life serving you, not betraying you, and surely not resenting you.”

  Caelum waved a hand dismissively. “We walk in circles with our words, brother.” He paused. “You say you were wrong to ally yourself with Gorgrael and to plot my death. But am I any better?” They stared at each other, and then, neither yet ready to speak of the greatest tragedy of all, Caelum continued: “I should have been the second son, but instead I was born first. Drago, I understand why I was born first, and I accept that, and I will do what is needed.”

  He half-smiled. “If you want me to continue on with the pretence of StarSon, then I will do so. It will serve the same end. If you think I must face Qeteb as StarSon, then I understand that I must do so.”

  He stopped, and stared at Drago. “You are weeping,” he whispered. “Why?”

  “For the loss of both of our lives, Caelum, but mostly for you. For your courage. For your dignity.”

  Caelum shuddered with emotion. “You said…you said in the forest, when last we parted, that when you came back through the Star Gate all enchantments fell from your eyes.”

  Drago nodded.

  “Then how is it, brother, that you can stand there and weep for me?” Caelum’s voice broke, and he had to pause to regain control of it, and of himself. “How is it that you can stand there and weep for me, when you know how foul I am?”

  “Caelum—”

  “How can you weep for me, when I did RiverStar to death?”

  There was utter silence and stillness in the chamber. Here, finally, surrounded by the cold damp stone, the weight of the mountain upon them and Tencendor disintegrating outside, they dared to speak and confront RiverStar’s death.

  And remember.

  RiverStar turned, and hungered.

  “I thought you would not come tonight.”

  “I could not help myself,” Caelum said. “I needed you.”

  She was on him then, her body tight against his, her hands daring, arousing. “Take me,” she whispered hoarsely. “I demand it.”

  He half-pushed her away. “You are in no position to demand anything.”

 
; Her lip curled, hate and lust rippling across her face in equal amounts. “And are you, brother? How would Tencendor react, do you think, to know that their StarSon spent each night deep inside his sister’s body?”

  “You foul-mouthed—”

  “Oh!” she laughed, pushing back against him. “I can be much fouler than that, Caelum. As well you know. Do you think Tencendor would be interested in knowing just how foul? Do you think Tencendor would like to know just what you do to my body, Caelum? How you use it? How you scream and pant and sweat with every thrust?”

  Now she had lifted one leg and wrapped it about his hip, lifting herself up slightly, and rubbing herself against his groin.

  “Do you think,” she whispered, her own lust now threatening to overwhelm her, “that Tencendor would like to know how much of yourself you expend within your sister’s body?”

  “Bitch!” Caelum spat, and he shoved her against the table behind her, ignoring her sudden cry of pain—and excitement—as the edge dug into her back. He slammed her along its surface, one hand tangled in her hair, one hand fumbling with her clothes and then his, and then he grunted and buried himself within her.

  She laughed, writhing around him. “Do you think, brother,” she whispered, her words barely audible above both their panting, “that Tencendor would like to know just how pregnant you have made me?”

  He stopped, appalled, still buried deep within her. “You lie.”

  She wriggled against him, rocking her hips, intent on her own satisfaction, even if he had abandoned his. “Considering the amount of SunSoar seed you have planted in me, brother, I would be amazed if I did not give birth to a battalion of your sons.”

  Her movements intensified, and as Caelum continued to stare at her, she suddenly shuddered, then jerked, and cried out with hoarse gratification.

  “You lie…” Caelum said.

  “You must marry me,” she whispered, her face running with sweat. “Or else I shall run to our parents and say that you raped me.”

  Caelum jerked himself away from her, fumbling as he rearranged his clothes.

  “I shall tell our mother,” she sneered, continuing to lay on the table with her legs spread-eagled, “amid my tears of mortification, that you forced my compliance with savage threats. That you ignored my screams of pain as you—”

  “No!”

  “Then marry me, Caelum!” She raised herself on one elbow. “Marry me! Imagine the power we would enjoy together! Imagine the power our son,” she splayed the fingers of one hand across her belly, “will enjoy! Imagine—”

  “No!” Caelum screamed, and sprang forward. As he moved, music sprang into life about them. Music and power, and suddenly there was the gleam of steel in Caelum’s hand, and then it vanished as he buried the kitchen knife to its hilt in her belly.

  RiverStar shrieked, and writhed in an obscene parody of how she had writhed against Caelum’s body.

  “No,” Caelum said again, in a strangely flat voice, and he wrenched the knife out only to sink it into her belly again, and again, and again. And then he turned his attention to her foul breasts and then to her throat although RiverStar had ceased to cry out long before.

  As Caelum lifted the knife for yet another blow, a hand grasped his shoulder and spun him about.

  “Are you mad, brother?”

  Drago, his expression a mixture of fear and horror and anger. Behind Caelum RiverStar’s body slid from the table to the floor with a sickening thud.

  Caelum used his power to pull himself free from Drago’s grip, and he raised his knife as if to attack his brother.

  Then it suddenly stilled.

  “No,” he murmured. “I have a better idea.”

  Again music leapt into life about them, and Drago sank to his knees beside his sister’s body, the knife magically, horribly, disappearing from Caelum’s hand and reappearing in his.

  Enchantment flooded Drago’s mind, enchantment so powerful—and intrusive—he gagged, then leaned over and retched.

  A memory block. An enchantment so potent, and so different, that only a SunSoar with the secret knowledge of how to manipulate the ring and the Star Dance could have wielded it.

  A mind block, and a block that warped and rearranged Drago’s memory of his sister’s death.

  “And now,” Caelum said, waving his hand so that all blood about the room and on his clothes disappeared, leaving the only murderous evidence clinging to Drago, “I must be off.”

  He vanished.

  And within heartbeats Isfrael and FreeFall had rushed into the room, only to halt in disbelief, and stare at the treacherous, now murderous, Drago crouched over his sister’s body.

  “Because of that, I will do as I must,” Caelum said very quietly. “If you want me to continue on in the pretence of StarSon, then I will. And I will rejoice in it.”

  Drago stared at his brother. Forty wasted years lay between them, forty years of lies and denial. And yet were they a waste? Unbidden Drago remembered what Axis had hissed over his cradle the first time he’d seen his new son.

  I will not welcome you into the House of Stars until you have learned both humility and compassion.

  Drago realised that if he had been born into the title of StarSon, with all the potential power that entailed, then he would have been just another WolfStar, raging out of control.

  The life wasted was not his, but Caelum’s.

  “Caelum…” Drago started, and was unable to finish. He had to turn aside slightly.

  “Drago,” Caelum said. “We must move on. Neither of us, nor Tencendor, has time for regrets.”

  Drago nodded, composed himself, then looked down to the book. “You will need this.”

  “Will you teach me how to use it?”

  “As much as I am able.”

  He stepped closer to Caelum, and opened the book. “See these strange patterns? They are the same as on my staff,” he indicated with a hand. “They form a strange script, representing music rather than words. This book contains Songs, Caelum, and I believe they are the Songs that will aid in the destruction of Qeteb. I hope to all the Stars above that they are!”

  “But the Star Dance is dead.”

  “Caelum, I only know that this book will help. Here, feel it!” Drago passed the book into Caelum’s hands, and his brother’s eyes widened with surprise. The book vibrated gently.

  “Mayhap the Star Dance lives on in the book, Caelum. It was written by one of the ancient Enemy, one of those who travelled on the craft, and he had many, many thousands of years to absorb the Dance. The craft are powerful…and so is the book.”

  Caelum nodded. “DragonStar,” he said, and this time his voice did choke with emotion. “You are my brother.”

  “And you are mine,” Drago said. “I love you, Caelum. I always have…I just had a cruel way of showing it.”

  Caelum smiled slowly, then he put the book down and took his brother’s shoulders in his hands.

  “This has been too long in the doing. Far too long,” he said, and he took a deep breath.

  “Welcome, DragonStar StarSon, into the House of the Stars and into my heart. My name is Caelum SunSoar, and I am your brother who loves you dearly. Sing well, and fly high, and…” Caelum hesitated slightly, “may your heart and mind and soul soar with all the enchantment that is your inheritance and your glory.”

  Without hesitation, and for the first time in his life, Caelum leaned forward and embraced Drago. “Welcome home, brother,” he whispered.

  And for the first time in his life, Drago hugged his brother tight against him, and buried his face in his shoulder, and wept.

  48

  Companionship and Respect

  Outside the domed chamber people grouped in uncomfortable uncertainty, staring at the closed door, and wondering at what was happening inside.

  “Pray to the Stars Drago does not harm his brother,” Axis murmured, pacing back and forth before the door. Every two or three steps he stopped, stared at the door, then jerked bac
k into his restless pacing.

  “Why did the girl respond to Drago, and not Caelum?” Adamon asked. “And why Faraday?”

  He turned, and looked at the two who were absorbed only in each other.

  Faraday sat on the stone floor, her arms wrapped about the child. The girl—Katie—hugged herself as close to Faraday’s body as she could get, burying her head in the coarse weave of Faraday’s dress, her fingers digging great ravines and ranges into the fabric of her skirts. About them were grouped the Alaunt hounds. In a circle, facing outwards, keeping guard.

  “Who is she?” Axis asked, finally taking his eyes from the closed door behind which Drago was probably murdering Caelum in a fit of brotherly ambition.

  Faraday looked up, her eyes swimming with tears, but nevertheless defiant.

  “She is the child I was never allowed to hold,” Faraday said. “And I the mother she lost.”

  “Who is she?” Axis repeated, his voice slightly colder now. Why must Faraday always throw the past in his face?

  “Her name is Katie,” Faraday said, “but exactly who, or what she is, I cannot know. She is connected to the craft, and mayhap she has still to play her role in the saving of this land, and mayhap she has already played it. All I know is that she has lost love, and yet needs love, and that I can give love to her.”

  Watching, Azhure’s face softened. The girl reminded her of her own pain at that age.

  “Leave them be,” she murmured to Axis, and he turned his face away, his eyes still hard.

  Pors, standing closest to the corridor down which they’d walked, suddenly stiffened, and stared intently down its gloom.

  “Someone comes,” he said.

  Everyone tensed, save Faraday and the child. Faraday looked up, and then smiled slowly, her face lovely in its happiness.

  “It is your father, Axis. And others as trustworthy.”

  Axis glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the group of three figures he could just make out at the far end of the corridor. “StarDrifter?”

  Stars! How long had it been since he’d thought of StarDrifter? Wasn’t he still with Zared?